


unravel me

by Evoxine



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Character Death, Heavy Angst, Love, M/M, Terminal Illnesses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-25 10:00:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17119223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evoxine/pseuds/Evoxine
Summary: What do you do when something you thought would last forever suddenly has an expiration date?Fill #7 for my Sekai Secret Santa event.





	unravel me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Hyperionova](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hyperionova/gifts).



> Rev, I hate you.
> 
> Also, this is written stylistically. Sections are written chronologically, starting from the most recent event. You can read it as it's written (i.e. how I wrote it) or from the bottom up.

**vii.** It’s been almost a year since the last time he stepped foot into the establishment and prices have gone up, Sehun notes. Somehow, he’s able to scrounge up enough loose change for the exact amount and the young girl at the counter directs him to a free studio. When Sehun realises that it’s the same studio that they usually use, he wonders if the gods above are having fun watching as his heart cracks and struggles to hold itself together.

His mind has long since gone numb and it’s only thanks to muscle memory that he finds himself walking over to the speakers and plugging in his phone. Muffled music finds its way through the walls from the studio next door, the rhythm thinned out by plaster and drywall and the constant sound of blood rushing through Sehun’s ears. Grimacing at his own reflection in the mirrors, Sehun hits _shuffle_ and walks over to the middle of the room, eyes fixated on his feet and nothing else.

Once again, his muscles oh-so-helpfully take over from his brain, patiently coaxing his limbs into movement. But it feels strange, almost as if he’s having an out-of-body experience, and Sehun jars to a stop after barely a few minutes of (what could pass off as) dancing.

“If you won’t dance with your heart, why bother dancing at all?”

See, Sehun _knows_ that the voice he hears isn’t actually there. Not anymore. Not since a couple of months ago.

But a part of him still feels like it _is_ still there, so he doesn’t look up from the floor, doesn’t look into the mirror, doesn’t want to prove to himself that the voice is just in his head.

“How am I supposed to dance with my heart if I left it with you?” He mumbles in response, digging the toe cap of his shoe into the shiny wooden floorboards. Music still continues playing, trickling in one ear and out of the other. The only thing Sehun can really hear is Jongin’s voice in his head.

“Don’t say that,” it chastises, loud and clear. “You danced with your heart even before we became friends.”

“Yeah, and after we met, you took it and kept it,” Sehun shrugs, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes. “You’ve had it ever since. Now, I can’t ask for it back even if I wanted to.”

He waits. Five, ten, fifteen seconds. One, three, ten minutes.

Silence.

Mouth dry and eyes burning, he barely remembers to grab his phone before he runs out of the studio, leaving the counter girl staring after him in confusion.

 

 

 

  
**vi**. For the first few weeks after Jongin’s death, life feels like it’s… hovering in the limbo between existing and living. Sehun, for the most part, accepts the fact that he still exists in the material world, but is he living? He doesn’t really know.

It’s jarring, to say the least. The first night home from the hospital felt very much like whiplash.

Jongin’s shoes greet him at the entrance, his favourite mug sits on the dining table, his (equally dead) phone lodged into the crack between the couch cushions. Sehun’s body breaks out in cold sweat and he makes a mad dash for the bathroom, only to step into the shower and see Jongin’s hair products sitting right next to his own. Two bottles, side by side on the marble ledge, waiting patiently as if Jongin himself will appear alongside Sehun, fighting for the water, just a few minutes later. He takes the quickest and coldest shower of his life and leaves the bottles there.

Shivering, he walks into their bedroom and the first thing his eyes land on is Jongin’s half-finished book resting on the bedside table, spine slowly creasing from where it’s pried open. Next to it is a framed picture of them, on one of their many wonderful dates, and Jongin is laughing into the curve of his neck. Sehun doesn’t even have to close his eyes to imagine the huff of air on his skin, the press of Jongin’s body against his. He stares at the picture, the book, his fingers cold and his heart in his throat.

Then there are the sheets. The same ones they slept on, cuddled on, made love on. The same ones the love of his life slipped away on. Even from across the room, Sehun can see the bloodstains on Jongin’s pillow. That’s what does it – the one thread holding Sehun together unravels, and he physically chokes on a sob.

Tears flow freely as he yanks on the sheets, vicious and desperate, pulling them off the mattress, the duvet, and the pillows before shoving them all into a random bag and flinging it out of the room. He thinks he hears a rip in the fabric, achingly similar to the one he heard in his heart last night.

The door rattles in its frame when he slams it shut – one of Jongin’s hoodies, hung up on a hook behind the door, swings heavily with the force. There’s pressure on his ribs, squeezing out what’s left of the air inside with every shaky exhale, and Sehun stumbles over to the naked bed.

He falls into a fitful sleep after long minutes of screaming into the pillows, tears soaking through and leaving his skin swollen and blotchy. The pillow still smells like Jongin, like home, like the jumpstart his withering heart needs.

That night, swathed in Jongin’s scent, he dreams of the way Jongin kisses him. The way Jongin kisses – no, _kissed_ – him has always been breathtaking. His kisses never failed to give Sehun a high, almost like the drop he would feel in his stomach when he’d press down on the accelerator, sending the car jumping forward and over the speed limit. His kisses gave Sehun goosebumps, the kind that rose as soon as a cold gust of wind shot through an open window. His kisses were the hot press of mouth on mouth, of nails leaving welts in their wake, of the force over Sehun’s sternum because Jongin would always have to restart his heart.

He wakes up with chapped lips. No amount of lip balm eases the pain.

 

 

 

  
**v**. “Sehun,” Jongin says quietly, toes wriggling inside their fuzzy socks. “Would you do something for me?”

“Anything.”

“Remember the dance we performed in senior year of high school?”

It takes a lot of digging around in his memory archives for Sehun to find it. “That was like, a decade ago, Jongin.”

A weak huff of laughter, then Jongin’s twisting around and glancing up at Sehun from where his head is cradled on Sehun’s lap. There are shadows under his eyes that even the brightest of lights wouldn’t be able to chase away. “Yeah. Do you remember it?”

“Parts of it. Why?”

“I want to see you dance it again.”

“Okay,” Sehun promises. “Anything you want.”

He’s never broken a promise to Jongin before and he isn’t about to break that streak.

It had taken a lot of effort for Sehun to get everything set up the way he wanted. Digging up an old recording of the performance had cost him the better part of a week and the only time he could squeeze in a practice session was whenever Jongin would be sleeping.

Thankfully, the principal of their high school still remembered them, and when Sehun explained the situation, he was more than willing to let him use the school’s auditorium on a Saturday night.

Fifteen days after Sehun made his promise, he drives Jongin back to where they became best friends. He carries Jongin inside, the entire building dead silent save for his single set of footsteps echoing off the floors and walls.

The door to the auditorium is unlocked and the lights inside have been left on. Sehun walks down the long aisle towards the front row, where he carefully sets Jongin down on one of the seats. Pulling back, he presses a kiss to Jongin’s forehead before straightening.

“I still can’t believe you got permission to be here,” Jongin laughs. For a split second, he looks like he did back when they were eighteen, young and bright and full of life.

It’s amazing, how the light in Jongin’s eyes still hasn’t faded despite everything he’s going through.

“Let me go try and figure out the sound system,” Sehun says, then pulls a face. “I really hope I don’t break anything.”

Unsurprisingly, it takes Sehun almost ten minutes of fiddling in the tech booth before he figures out the correct settings for the sound system. He sets a random song to play first, needing some time to head back to the stage, and he chooses a song that they both love.

Through the windows, he sees Jongin glance up at him the second he recognises the track. He feels, rather than sees, the smile on his face.

He jogs back down and spends the rest of the song with Jongin’s hand in his, murmuring sweet nothings into his ear, lips flush against the soft edge of the beanie that covers his smooth scalp.

When the song is winding down, Jongin gives the back of Sehun’s hand a kiss and lets go.

“Go on, dance for me,” he grins.

So Sehun clambers up onto the stage and dances for him.

He knew it would be hard, dancing a choreography that was meant for the two of them all by himself, but he never expected it to be this hard. Each passing second makes it that much harder to try and fight off the memories from ten years ago, from when Jongin was healthy, his happiness infectious, and looking like sunlight personified.

He’s crying by the end of it, fat tears running down his cheeks and falling off the point of his shirt. His shirt soaks some of them up and the rest end up beneath his feet, leaving wet streaks across the stage floor in their wake. The pain that radiates out from his kneecaps when they hit the surface barely registers in his mind.

 _Fuck_ , Sehun thinks, _I can’t let him see me like this. I’m supposed to be strong for him, for us, for –_

“It’s gonna be okay,” Jongin mumbles, somehow managing to gather the lump that is Sehun into his arms. How did he even muster up the energy to climb up all those stairs backstage? There are soothing fingers in his hair as his cheek gets pressed against Jongin’s chest, and he can hear the steady beat of Jongin’s heart (but for how much longer?). He winds an arm around Jongin’s waist, feels the sharp jut of his iliac crest and the prominent curves of his ribs.

“Don’t leave me.” It comes out quiet, barely a whisper, the syllables weaving through the fibres of Jongin’s shirt. Of course, Jongin’s ears pick them up anyway.

“Sehun…”

“ _You can’t leave me._ ”

When Jongin doesn’t – because he can’t find the words to – reply, Sehun willingly lets a fresh wave of tears take over.

 

 

 

  
**iv**. For a man who’s living on borrowed time, Jongin lives as though he’s got an infinite amount of time left. He’s practically brimming with energy, wanting to do something different every day before that energy runs out and he can barely walk. There are already thousands of photos featuring the two of them saved on Sehun’s phone, photos that will no doubt hurt to look back on when he’s all alone in the middle of the night, unable to fall asleep without the familiar weight of Jongin against him.

They go to pottery class and come home with two honest-to-god ugly vases that Sehun displays on either side of their television. They go to a salsa class and come home still spinning in each other’s arms, squabbling over who gets to lead. They go to a conservatory and stargaze, Jongin falling asleep on Sehun’s shoulder as the latter stares up at the stars, praying for a miracle.

Jongin tries to bake a three-tiered cake at home and causes an absolute mess that Sehun doesn’t mind cleaning up at all. The cake actually turns out alright, albeit a little lopsided, and because Jongin can’t eat too much sugar, Sehun promises he’ll finish it all. They go to a fancy Italian restaurant just to have their first spaghetti kiss – it’s perfect, and not even the overwhelming amount of garlic in the dish can change their minds.

They volunteer at animal shelters, orphanages, and retirement homes, Sehun stepping back just to let everyone have the chance to experience the sheer joy Jongin exudes before they can no longer do so. They drive through the countryside, windows down and fingers intertwined over the centre console. Sehun keeps a hand on the wheel, elbow resting on the windowsill, as his eyes flick between looking at the road and at Jongin’s reflection in the rearview mirror.

It feels like an eternity, cruising down quiet roads with vast fields whipping by. Jongin presses a kiss to the backs of Sehun’s fingers and closes his eyes.

“I love you,” he says simply. It _is_ simple, Sehun realises, to love him and be loved in return. Easy, effortless, natural.

“I love you too.” Forever.

They spend time with their families. Sehun’s heart breaks for Jongin’s parents and sisters whenever he catches the shattered expressions on their faces – they never let their strength slip in front of Jongin, but Sehun knows what to look for because it sees it in the mirror every day. It’s a different kind of pain he sees when he looks into the eyes of his own family members. He sees pity – sorrow for his inevitable loss – and he absolutely hates it.

Jongin isn’t a big fan of heights, but they ride as many Ferris wheels and cable cars as it takes for him to get used to being in the sky. After all, he’s due up in heaven soon. Sehun tries not to think about how Jongin will always watch over him from above, because that’s just the kind of lover he is.

Sex is no longer urgent and heated, no longer a mad dash to the peak and a furious collection of bruises. It’s slow and desperate, a way for them to be together that no one else can truly replicate. Their skin takes on a soft sheen of sweat, chests flush as they move oh-so-slowly in sync with each other. There are always kisses and declarations of love, but sometimes, there are tears. Neither comments when they taste salt on their lips.

They recreate their ever first date, complete with ramen, the arcade, and a leisurely bike ride along the river bank. Jongin can barely finish half a bowl of his noodles, but he still manages to win Sehun several stuffed toys. The night is quiet as Sehun pedals, Jongin a solid weight behind him, and he can’t help but think back to their 21-year-old selves.

They were so happy back then. Naïve, drunk on love, thinking that they had their whole lives ahead of them. Even so, Sehun wouldn’t change anything. He would spend every lifetime with Jongin even if their time together always ends up being cut short. Swallowing, Sehun blinks away the burn in his eyes and pedals faster.

A few days later, Jongin says, “Hey, the doctor got it wrong!”

It’s been ten months and a day since Jongin was diagnosed, since he was given his death sentence, since Sehun’s world crashed down around him in pieces.

Yeah, the doctor got it wrong. But not wrong enough.

 

 

 

  
**iii**. Life is cruel, Sehun decides.

It’s already been a couple of months since Jongin’s diagnosis and Sehun is still struggling to wrap his mind around it. The thing is, Jongin himself doesn’t seem remotely affected by the news and it’s driving Sehun insane. How can he possibly be okay with this? How is he not angry or upset or scared? _Why doesn’t he want to get treatment?_

They’re heavy questions, and Sehun doesn’t know how to broach them without sounding insensitive and uncaring. But they take a toll on his psyche, and it really isn’t long before it gets too much to bear.

“Why are you so blasé about this?!” Sehun erupts one night, a half-washed plate in his hands and suds running up his forearms. “The doctor said you had ten months left to live – how are you so okay with dying?!”

Startled, Jongin drops the spoon in his hand and it clatters noisily into his bowl.

There’s a long, tense period of silence before Jongin exhales and leans back in his chair.

“I’m not _okay_ with dying, Sehun. Do you really think I want to die? Do you think I want to leave my family behind? That I want to leave _you_ behind? You know me better than this.”

Sehun doesn’t move, fingers gripping at the slippery dish as if it’s a lifeline.

“I don’t want to get treatment because I would rather live the rest of my life the way I want to. Treatment isn’t a cure – I can never recover from this. Treatment will only drag out the inevitable. I don’t want to spend whatever time I have left suffering through the side effects of chemo while being drugged up. I want to spend that time doing things I love with people I love. Do you really want your last memories of me to be like that?

“I’m so sorry that this had to happen,” he continues, his voice a thousand times stronger than Sehun could ever be. “Our life together has barely begun and it’s already ending. But we still have time, Sehun. Ten months is a fairly decent amount of time and I just want to spend every single one of those days with you.”

His chair scrapes along the floor and a few seconds later, Sehun feels arms wind around his middle.

“I know it’s a lot to ask, and if I were in your shoes I would probably be just as angry as you are. But all I want is to live a normal life with you by my side.”

“Okay,” Sehun whispers, staring down at the bubbles slowly shrinking away. Behind him, Jongin sighs regretfully and presses a kiss to his nape.

 

 

 

  
**ii**. They’re halfway into their two weeks of paradise when Jongin finds himself throwing up blood. Sehun’s downstairs busy renting them a couple of jet skis, so that gives Jongin some time to calm the sudden rise of panic in his gut and rinse out his mouth.

For the past few months, his stomach has been upset more often than not and he hasn’t been able to eat very much. His poor appetite, combined with the fact that he’s been vomiting far too many times for it to be considered normal, has led to the drastic drop in weight. He’s lost more than a few pounds and Sehun was rightfully worried until Jongin lied and said that he’d been too busy at work to eat lunch in the recent weeks.

The thing is, Jongin had chalked it up to a stubborn stomach virus – until today when blood appeared in the toilet bowl. He shuts off the tap and wipes his mouth dry, staring at his reflection in the mirror before glancing over at the mess in the bowl. Swallowing, he leans over and flushes it away.

Not wanting to ruin their trip, Jongin decides to wait until they get home to see the doctor. If he’s already put up with it for this long, he can do it for another week.

He’s just stepping out of the bathroom when the door to their room opens and Sehun strides in with the widest smile on his face. _He’s perfect_ , Jongin thinks, and he can’t help but smile back. At that moment, the discomfort in his stomach fades away to warmth.

It’s not an easy task, hiding something like this from Sehun. The only things they hide from each other are presents, for crying out loud. But Jongin’s determined to give Sehun an amazing time out here, where the water is clear and the skies are blue. He can worry about whatever’s going wrong later.

‘Later’ turns out to be nine days after they get back home from Bora Bora, skin still glowing with all the sunlight they had soaked up. He’d gone to the clinic as soon as he was able to, and after a battery of tests and a few days of waiting for the report, Jongin gets a call while he’s at work.

It’s a quick call, the doctor choosing not to beat around the bush when it comes to something as serious as this. After a few minutes on the line, Jongin thanks him and hangs up. For the longest time, he sits and stares at the phone on his desk. Then, with a ragged breath, he stands on trembling legs and makes his way towards his boss’ office.

“Sir, I need to take the rest of the day off.”

His boss blinks up at him. Jongin clears his throat. Weird – his stomach is completely calm right now.

“I have cancer?” Jongin chews on the inside of his cheek. His voice sounds oddly disjointed to him. “The doctor told me I have ten months left. I, uh, I need to tell Sehun.”

_I need to tell Sehun that I’m sorry I can’t hold up the promise we made to each other just a few weeks ago. God, I’m so sorry._

 

 

 

  
**i**. The grass is crisp and just slightly damp beneath their feet – Jongin thinks he feels a small flower poking up between his toes. He’s been smiling since he woke up that day and he doesn’t have any plans to stop.

Sehun looks absolutely breathtaking from where he stands a few feet away from him, his cotton shirt unbuttoned down to his sternum and a handful of flower petals scattered amongst his hair (courtesy of Jongin’s niece). None of that beauty compares to the look in Sehun’s eyes though, a look that declares _you’re the only one I want to spend the rest of my life with._

His best man nudges him in the small of his back and Jongin chokes on a laugh.

“Sorry, was I staring for too long?”

Sehun tries and fails to fight back a smile.

“Right, my vows.” He has them written out on cards and they’re tucked safely away in his pocket, but Jongin doesn’t need them. "You, Sehun, have known me for the better part of a decade. You know me better than anyone else in this world and despite that, you still manage to love me. The day I told you that I loved you for the first time has always been the most important day of my life – until today. You are my best friend and one true love, someone who has made me a better person, and I cannot wait to spend the rest of my life constantly telling you how much I treasure you."

He hears a loud sniffle from somewhere in the audience and he waggles an eyebrow, something that easily coaxes a chuckle out of Sehun’s mouth.

“I remember,” Sehun begins, “that a few years ago, I walked in on you shaving. I took a few seconds just to look at you with all that foam over your face, and in that short amount of time, I realised that _wow_ , I absolutely adore you. I adore every bit of you, from how your hair always tickles my nose when we sleep to how your hand always manages to find mine. I adore your soul. Thank you for choosing me, Jongin. In return, I choose you for all of my yesterdays, today, and all of our days to come.”

After that, everything passes in a blur – Jongin barely even registers hearing their respective _I Do_ s. Then all of a sudden, Jongin feels a cool band of platinum slide down his ring finger, where it rests snugly at the base. His heart is trying to claw its way out of him in excitement when he slips Sehun’s ring onto his finger and he can’t help but blurt, “Oh my god, we’re married!”

Collectively, their friends and families break out into watery laughs.

A thrill ricochets its way through Jongin’s body when he realises that Sehun is still looking at him like he’s the most precious thing he has ever laid eyes on.

“Please let me kiss him now,” Jongin pleads, turning to stare at their officiant.

“I hereby present to you one of the loveliest couples I’ve ever had the chance to marry. You may now –”

Sehun meets him halfway, the breeze dislodging a couple of petals from his hair that end up in Jongin’s. It’s their first kiss of the day, but most importantly, the first of their marriage. Jongin laughs happily against the warm press of Sehun’s lips against his.

“As long as we both shall live,” Sehun whispers between kisses. Yeah, Jongin thinks, thumbing at the sharp curve of Sehun’s cheek. _As long as we both shall live._

**Author's Note:**

> Don't blame me, blame Rev. 
> 
>  
> 
> [Click for Links!](https://bluedveins.wixsite.com/evoxine)


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